


And All I Can Say Is

by distefanos



Category: Football RPF
Genre: Established Relationship, M/M, Phone Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-07
Updated: 2015-06-07
Packaged: 2018-04-03 07:04:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,667
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4091602
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/distefanos/pseuds/distefanos
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>I'll never know why this pairing reminds me of corny Drake lyrics but here we go again.</p><p>The Champions League Final and a different sort of distance between them.</p>
            </blockquote>





	And All I Can Say Is

**Author's Note:**

> When I first wanted to write this I initially thought something cute and emotional but then they just didn't work that way (Isco doesn't work out that way). This is the same verse as my other Morisco writings, I'll probably slot it into the long piece when I get to this time period.
> 
> I tried for ages to find Álvaro's smile that I was imagining but it has eluded me. If anyone knows what I mean please share! I'd love to see that face again.
> 
> I want a pair of these boxers? If they don't exist they should and I would purchase 9 pairs.

He had somewhere else to be. A hefty handful of somewhere elses really. But there was only one place he wanted to be. He couldn't be there, but he went for the next best thing.

"No really, Álvy, I think it's cute that you cried." Isco said earnestly through the speaker of Álvaro's phone as he twisted his jacket into a ball and chucked it across the room, letting himself fall onto his back on the stiff hotel bed. The whole of Berlin was booked solid but for Álvaro Morata some concessions could be made. He wondered how many cameras waited outside the hotel to see who Álvaro was meeting here while his girlfriend and family were on the other side of the city. They'd never catch him. He picked up the phone and switched off speaker with a derisive snort. "Sexy, even. You can cry right now if you want."

"I don't feel like crying, Isco." Not strictly true. But moreso he felt like breaking things. Instead he pressed his hand into the mattress, trying to push hard enough to feel the springs, as if that would somehow make the bed more comfortable. He glared with distaste at the seedy hotel comforter. He felt a bit filthy just being in this second-rate hotel, although it was not an altogether unpleasant feeling.

"Are you sure?"

"Yes and no." Álvaro's checked emotions seeped into the silence like water through cheesecloth, weighing it down as it stretched on, threatening to break through the frail surface. "Say something." He demanded finally when he could say for certain that his voice was steady.

"How did it feel to score against Barcelona?" He asked it the same way he would ask something dirty, like what Álvaro's fantasies are, or reminding him how much he enjoyed that blowjob from the other night.

"Straight into the dirty talk then, just like that?"

"Well? If you're not going to cry then this is next on the agenda." Throaty chuckle. 

"It felt fucking good."

"And?"

"And what?" 

"Say it."

Suddenly bashful. "That's personal." 

"My man scored against Barcelona." Isco said, semi-playfully, but a fondness dripped into his tone, something heavier than simple pride. Lust.

"I'll say more if you take your shirt off." 

"Just my shirt?"

"Are you in a rush?"

"It's off. Go on."

"I feel vindicated." It was a joke, mostly. One he regretted immediately because it touched nerves they had all but repaired in the past few months. No matter how light his tone they both sensed a truth to it, a sharp edge.

"Hmmmm not the answer I was looking for. Remove your shirt and return to square one." Álvaro did as he was told.

"When I scored, I imagined the roar of 80,000 strong, the Bernabeu faithful singing my name." Álvaro didn't mind how wistful he sounded because he knew Isco would enjoy it.

"I'll take my pants off to that." 

"You really are in a rush." Álvaro commented smugly.

"I'll be honest, I was half in the bag already watching that match. And it took you forever to call..."

"Are you saying you started without me?" Sly silence. "Selfish. Selfish midfielder."

"I bet you'd be such a great fuck right now." Isco said gruffly. Maybe a little more than half in the bag. Álvaro felt the first prickles of arousal.

"And you'd hardly even have time to enjoy it at this rate." Isco sighed and didn't disagree.

"So when you scored, would you say you scored as a madridista?" Isco continued.

"Does that turn you on?"

"You know that it does."

"And you got off on me scoring against Barcelona."

"Yes. God yes." 

"Isc, I don't know if I can do this right now." Álvaro said abruptly. Miserable suddenly, something in his mind had switched on to remind him of what he had lost tonight.

"Let me help." He heard a shuffling on the other end and then his phone vibrated against his ear. He put Isco on speaker again as he opened it. He should have known better than to expect an actual nude. "You don't want to know how long ago I bought these, to be honest." Isco said a bit shyly. 

"Please tell me it says my name on your ass." Álvaro was smiling now, a genuine smile, in spite of everything. 

"Play your cards right and you'll find out." Isco rebuked. Álvaro smiled wider, sat back more, getting more comfortable with the situation. 

"How often do you wear these?" Álvaro asked in awe. He slid his own pants down his legs, struggled a little to remove them completely without tearing his eyes away from the phone. Maybe he should have been embarrassed about how well Isco knew how to stroke his ego, but he was mostly just turned on. And so was Isco, his erection visibly straining the fabric of the boxers, pressing against the letters on the jeep symbol. Black and white stripes down it, a passable replica of the Juventus jerseys. He was almost certain his name was on the back but he really wanted to see it for himself. "And why have I never seen them."

"I was waiting for the right moment." 

"Like when I won the Champions League title..." He deflated a bit again, but Isco still seemed unperturbed about trying to keep his mood afloat.

"Or when you scored on Barcelona and looked fucking gorgeous all red rimmed and pouting for the whole world to see. How many people do you think are jerking off to the thought of you right now."

"At least one?" Isco sputtered a laugh like he'd been caught out.

"I need something back first." He challenged.

"Isco..."

"God, please Álvy? I bet you look so sexy right now. All dark eyed and sullen but...maybe slightly turned on?"

"Slightly." Álvaro agreed, though he was a bit more than slightly, and he thought Isco pretty well knew that.

"Just send me that dumb smile you always do." Isco pleaded.

"Fuck you." Álvaro said without any venom. He flipped his camera on and flipped Isco off, most likely giving him the exact smile that he was asking for. "Can I see your ass now?"

"I know you know your name is there. Imagine how fucking ridiculous it would look if someone saw them? Who knows where I wear them, all it would take is Dani tripping me up me one day and I'd have to explain this." A pause. "I'd just say I lost a bet with you." Álvaro took this to mean that he had thought of this before because he wore them out of the house. The idea turned him on a lot more than it should, it was a pretty big risk for Isco to take.

"What do I have to do to see it?" Isco took his time to think, drew the moment out in a way that had Álvaro burning for things to begin.

"All I can think of is your hands right now, I don't know. Show me your...chest." He said it like he had closed his eyes and jabbed a picture of a person and chose the body part his finger landed on. Álvaro obliged, trying to make it look like he wasn't flexing in the extreme and reminding himself this was nothing Isco hadn't seen before.

"Don't start until you show me." Álvaro warned, he heard Isco's breath catch on the line.

"It doesn't count as starting if my boxers are still on." 

"Do you keep them on sometimes when you're jacking off?" _Grab your ass, mumble my name._

"And did you feel the joy of Madrid in your heart as you celebrated that goal?" A coy yes.

"It felt like home." Álvaro said. He hadn't thought about it that way until that moment, but it felt true.

"I wish I could have been there." The longing in his voice hurt something in his chest. He imagined a moment where he could score against Barça in a different white, clutch Isco to him, take in the smell of him, feel his joy vibrating through both their bodies. The image was both extremely satisfying and quite upsetting.

"Isco." Álvaro said again in warning.

"Oops. I owe you one now." Some shuffling again. "Anyway I would probably do something stupid like kiss your mouth. Okay how do I do this." More shuffling.

"You would not." 

"Don't challenge me. It's only a week before you might score with me."

"You would not." Álvaro said again with less conviction. And then he was distracted by the most perfect image being sent to his phone. On his stomach, the fabric was pulled taut across his plush ass, perfect dimples just within the frame, his number, and his name just above the back of his thighs. The 9 was aptly placed in a way that almost had Álvaro wondering how much planning went into these. He almost couldn't believe his boyfriend had custom made boxers so he could wear his name on his ass. But then it was Isco, so he could believe it. The thought that he put into pranks, and surely, at some point, this had meant to be a prank?

He was torn at the beautiful zenith of wanting Isco to wear the boxers all of the time, including when he was getting off, and wanting him to be naked. For himself he was yanking his own boxers down, turned on the way only Isco knew how to get him.

"Boxers on or off?" Isco asked, a laugh in his voice. He knew exactly the effect he was having. Álvaro paused, groped himself while still admiring the picture. 

"...On." He admitted after drawing the pause out a little longer with his hand, biting back a groan. Isco giggled.

"So did I do good?" Isco asked, his voice different now, strained as his hand drifted across his body. Álvaro imagined all the parts of Isco where he liked to be touched.

"Unbelievably good." Álvaro said, his voice a bit breathless, prickles of pleasure creeping across his chest, steadying his hand a bit because he was getting carried away. "Can I see more." He begged. He didn't mean to beg, but the gruffness of his voice made it sound more like a plea than a demand.

"It's your turn first." Isco said, equally breathless. Álvaro didn't enjoy having to close the picture for a moment. He took a picture of his hand on himself because he knew Isco liked that. Beneath his hand you could just tell that he was really hard and swollen and painfully turned on. And Isco's intake of breath told him he delivered exactly what Isco wanted.

"Don't you dare come before you send a picture back." 

"Shit." Somehow the movements sounded frantic even across the line. "I didn't." Isco reported after a pause. After another moment an incoming message flashed across the top of Álvaro's screen, for he had opened the picture back up. The tantalizing part of it was that he wouldn't be able to enjoy the full effect of the boxers until he could be there in person, grabbing handfuls of his own name, pressing Isco against a wall to jerk off from behind.

"Okay I'm close." Álvaro told him, slowing his hand again for a second to ensure they were at the same point.

"I've been close for like 3 hours." Isco joked. "I'm grabbing my ass." He told him, his voice wrecked in a way that rushed Álvaro right to the very edge. "I wish it was you." 

"Jesus." Álvaro groaned. "I wish you were here."

"God, Álvy, I would let you fuck me so hard right now."

"I would have you up against the wall before you even got through the door."

"I want to feel you come inside me so bad. Fuck are you gunna come I'm gunna come." The last part came out as one quick sentence in a strained voice.

"Yes Isco, I'm coming."He heard Isco come first with a groan. He felt so close but he just wanted one more thing. "Can you send another picture, quickly?" He asked, stopping his hand, throbbing at the very edge of control, hand rubbing across his stomach urgently then up across his own nipple, a shiver running through him. Isco didn't say a word, just panted into the phone for another second before sending another picture. His boxers yanked down a bit over his ass so the letters of Álvaro's name ran over one another, cum stark white across the black stripes. He reached down quickly, and as he stroked he came almost immediately, cursing across the line as he spilled over his hand and stomach.

He sank back into the bed, suddenly not stiff at all and more like a cloud, enveloping him in its warmth. Lazily, he wiped a tissue across himself but didn't even bother to dress, just lay back, bonelesss, hand running compulsively through his hair.

"I don't know how I always come so hard just from phone conversations." Isco commented after a while. Álvaro laughed in agreement. They lapsed back into silence. As Álvaro came back into himself, his dark mood ate at the edges of it, the deep red of the hotel comforter, it suddenly occurred to him, was overwhelming and infuriating. The teal carpet, two decades in need of replacing, became an eyesore. The room seemed dank, not enough light from the small lamp mounted on the wall, the anti-septic, ammonium smell of the room only served to make it feel more unclean. Isco must have sensed something in the silence because he made an anxious noise as he tried to think of something to say.  
"Is it true about the retirement?"

"How the fuck should I know." 

"True." More silence as Isco cast around for something else to say. With resignation, Álvaro dragged himself back into the phone call. He looked fondly now at the picture of Isco's boxers, moved all the photos into an e-mail draft where he collected all of his favourite pictures of Isco, intimate and otherwise incriminating, and some that he was just fond of. Selfies in bed after, screenshots of skype calls, shirtless. Isco in a sweater Vic had chosen for him, that brought out his eyes and something in his impish smile that was just so unequivocally and perfectly Isco that it was his favourite picture of him, even above any nude he had ever seen. Above the boxers even, although he'd be lying if he said they didn't come close. "Do you have a balcony?" Isco asked. What he was really asking was if Álvaro had a private balcony, and reminding him of this small comfort that he knew Álvaro would have ensured he had.

"One second." He said. He pulled on his clothes and crossed the room to the balcony. It could hardly be called a balcony really, a short concrete surface that jutted out less than 2 feet. Concave barring that looked sharp and cold and unwelcoming and barely a railing to hold onto. What a shit hotel. Álvaro was on a high enough floor and the night was dark enough that he could lean out over the side without being seen. "Berlin is so beautiful tonight, Isc. I wish you could see it right now."

"Tell me about it."

He was still upset, he still felt wretched and miserable and broken. But the phone pressed to his ear held him together for now. The voice still reminded him that home was out there somewhere, that the future held something bright and beautiful and his to claim. He still had a million other places to be, and maybe Isco did too. But for a while Álvaro let the cool air wash over his flushed skin, tickle his hair across his face and described the beautiful city that Isco was a thousand miles away from but also looking out over, the same as him.

**Author's Note:**

> one for the road:
> 
> "I almost threw them all away a few weeks ago, you know." Isco said quietly, after they had been sitting in a companionable silence, Álvaro watching the lights over Berlin, Isco staring out at the pool in his backyard across an empty window ledge over his kitchen sink. "The boxer shorts."
> 
> A dozen questions flitted through Álvaro's mind. _Why didn't you? Why did you almost?_ and then "Them? How many do you have..."
> 
> He wasn't really expecting an answer and he didn't get one, but he could almost hear Isco's tongue between his teeth as he considered it.


End file.
